


Time Travel Sucks

by LiteraryHedonism



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Paganism, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Slow To Update, Time Travel, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteraryHedonism/pseuds/LiteraryHedonism
Summary: Cat’s life hasn’t exactly been virtuous, living in the fast lane and never looking back has served her well. Regardless, she's pretty sure she didn’t deserve waking up in the Dark Ages. Things go from bad to terrible when she’s quickly captured and accused of being a witch. Cat is certain she’s going to burn at stake. Her rescue is as unexpected as her rescuers, a band of Northmen raiding the English shores.The last thing Ragnar expected to find on their second raid west was a green haired witch. Whether she’s a sign from Odin or simply good fortune, he’s not sure yet. Though with the way his brother stares at the woman, perhaps it doesn’t matter where she came from and only that she’s here.
Relationships: Lagertha/Ragnar Lothbrok, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Rollo/OC
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	Time Travel Sucks

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a story that's been brewing for years, since Vikings first aired but it's only now that I've been able to put it together. The premise, ever notice how people who time travel usually have a way of just fitting right in? Well, this isn't one those moments. Hope ya'll enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

_ 9th century, Northumbria, Hexham _

Ragnar leans in close to the door with a smile, the priest’s voice easily discernible through the wood. He turns to those waiting behind him with a smirk. Floki’s excited giggle almost makes him laugh out.

Once he’s certain everyone is ready, he gives the signal to break the door down. Shocked gasps erupt at the disturbance and the crowd of common folk retreat back as Ragnar and his men pour in. Most of these people are frightened lambs, just as he’d expected and the few men brave enough to rush them meet their ends justly.

At least the priest seems like a reasonable man, he tries to silence his flock as he approaches. The raiders clear the centre of the room, screams and cries ring out around Ragnar. He stares at the man dressed richly in white and gold with a searching gaze. The well fed priest looks at him with fear as he falls to his knees.

“Please,” the priest begs, “we had no choice but to arrest her. It is God’s law.” 

Ragnar keeps his face neutral despite his confusion. He tilts his head to the side and the priest whimpers.

“She’s alive, I swear. We sent for the bishop only yesterday. Take your witch and spare these souls.”

A witch? Ragnar frowns. “Eric!” He calls the blonde from across the room. “Find Lagertha and bring her here, now!” The rest of the men stop, Floki walks up from behind him, curiosity clear on his friend’s face. Ragnar looks down to the priest, motioning for him to rise. “If you do not resist, we will not hurt you. Tell that to your people, Priest.” He lies with a smile. 

The man trembles but does as he’s told. He addresses the crowd in their own language, instructing them to remain calm and not to interfere. The people cry out as the raiders begin looting but remain huddled together on the ground.

Ragnar is explaining the new situation to Floki just as Eric returns with Lagertha. The blood from her nose and the somber expression on the taller man make him frown. “What’s happened?” His hand reaches out to touch the bruise forming around his wife’s eye.

“Knut is dead.” Eric rumbles with simmering anger. “I buried my axe in his back while he was trying to steal your wife’s honor.”

“I see.” He inclines his head in thanks to his friend then turns to Lagertha. “Are you alright?”

Lagertha snorts and brushes his worry away. “I had everything under control. I was about to gut him myself.” She looks around the church keenly. “What did you need me here for?”

Ragnar heaves a heavy sigh. Knut’s death will make things harder with the earl but it couldn’t be helped. He’ll need to have words with Rollo however, his brother had been supposed to keep an eye on Lagertha. “The priest thinks we are here to take back a witch they’ve arrested. I need you to see if she’s worth anything.” He raises an eyebrow meaningfully and looks at Floki who’s merily taunting the christians. “Bring Floki with you too.”

The priest is still scurrying about the room, torn between protecting the people and protecting his god’s gold. 

“Priest!” Ragnar calls the man over, he schools his face into a stern mask. “Where is the witch now?”

Shivering like a leaf the priest points to a door in the far right corner. “The sleeping cells,” uncalloused hands reach into those ample robes and bring out a set of keys. “This will unlock the irons.” The man holds it out for Ragnar to take.

“Here, he says she’s that way.” He drops the key in Lagertha’s hand and watches her go. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the priest making that odd gesture to himself again.

* * *

  
  


_ Several days prior, modern northumbria, Hexham _

Cat stumbles over another rock as she runs through the dark forest. She mumbles a string of curses and pauses. The only sound she hears now is her own heavy breathing over the light rain falling on the leaves. “Lost them.” She puffs out a few more breaths to keep the nausea away, the last three whiskey shots had been a bad idea.

So much for a nice little vacation. She’d been on this  _ back to your roots _ tour of the UK for almost a month. The original goal of the trip had been for a once in a lifetime opportunity to get tattooed by one of the best in the world. The idea of heading back home right away hadn’t sat well so instead she’d pulled out the rest of her savings to drive around the motherland. It was a good break from slinging drinks on weeknights and swinging around a poll on the weekends. 

Unfortunately, her funds had run dry 2 days ago and she was stuck in some little country town in the middle of nowhere. She hadn’t been able to find any sort of work during that time, the looks aimed at her tattoos, piercings and green hair had said enough. Which had led to tonight’s failed hussle. The village had its share of pubs, though only one with a pool table. 

She’d found a small group of american tourists already heavy in their cups, laughing loudly around the  _ billiards _ table. It had been laughably easy to fleece them. A few playful smiles, bend over a little too much with each shot, and they were eating out of the palm of her hand. Cat had gotten too cocky though, she’d let her guard down and drank too much but it’s always been hard for her to turn down free drinks. Especially after the last few days she’d had. Thus, a few hours later, while trying to snag the last wallet before she could get the hell out of dodge, she didn’t notice one of the guys make his way to pay the tab.

There’d been a lot of shouting and name calling after that. When someone had tried to grab her from behind, Cat had reacted on instinct and swung around with a mean right hook. The bar had gone silent to ogle the fight so the sound of the man’s nose breaking made heads turn and wince. Not wasting the opportunity, she turned back to the other man blocking her path and kicked in his family jewels as hard as she could before she made a run for it.

The rain had started as the remaining three chased after her, first through the village then into the forest. She’s pretty sure they’ve given up now but it’s probably best if she lays low here until morning. 

It’s been a long time since she’s had to sleep outside, not since her teens. At least the ground here is soft and mossy, the trees are close enough together that the rain is more of a light mist.

Cat takes a careful step forward, her head is still spinning a little. She slips on something squishy, thankfully she manages to catch herself on a nearby tree. Turning her boot over, she squints trying to make out what almost killed her. It’s too dark however, she huffs before reaching into her back pocket for her phone. “Please don’t be dog shit…” She mumbles to herself and freezes. “No.” Panic sets in and she frantically begins to search all her pockets. “No, no no, no, shit! FUCK!” 

It’s all gone. Her phone, car keys, wallet, all the extra wallets. All gone. This is why she hates chick pants, no fucking pocket space and now all her shit is probably scattered through the damn forrest. She doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry as she sinks down against the tree trunk.

A sliver of cloud starts to part, letting a little moonlight filter through onto Cat’s moss patch. Dozens of little mushrooms dot the area in little circles, the biggest of which she’s now sitting in the middle of. She picks the remainder of the squished fungus off her boots with a shake of her head. “Probably poisonous too.” She snorts and tosses it away. 

Cat tilts her head back with a frown. She’s mad at herself but it’s not gonna change shit right now, might as well sleep here and search the woods in the morning. A shiver runs up her spine, no doubt from her wet clothes. “Just my luck, probably gonna catch a fucking cold now too.”

* * *

The morning sun isn’t a welcomed sight for Cat, who groans and cradles her head suffering from what has to be the mother of all hangovers. She squeezes her eyes shut and slowly gets up on wobbly legs. Her stomach protests, roiling and gurgling madly. It takes a few more minutes of standing still with her eyes closed before she's confident she won't spew everywhere.

Green eyes search the woods for last night’s path. Of course, it wasn’t as if she’d gotten a good look at anything last night. “Fuck it.” She sighs and picks a random direction, hopefully she can at least get back to town. Or any town really.

Hiking for 30 minutes on a hangover isn’t Cat’s idea of a good morning for sure. At this point she doesn’t care if she has to fold like a wet napkin and call her sister to beg for a rescue. Cat wants to get the hell out of this country as soon as possible. The sight of the trees thinning up ahead is a beautiful thing, so much so that Cat runs the rest of the way with a big smile on her face.

“What the…” She stops in her tracks at the sight that greets her. A frown replaces her smile and creases her eyebrows into a deep v. “The fuck is this?” She pinches her arm and hisses. Her heart starts to beat hard against her ribs, the village is gone. Well not totally, there is a village in front her but it’s like something out of an old timey movie set. Little huts dot the hillside, large patches of fields have replaced almost everything she remembers. Not a road in sight…

Cat pinches herself harder, this time with a little nail. “Ouch!” She looks up again. “This is a joke.” Maybe it’s a really good movie set? What else could it be? Certainly not what her brain is screaming at her at the moment.

She ventures down after roughly 15 minutes of pacing and psyching herself up. The sun is getting warm, beating down on her leather jacket. By the time Cat approaches the wooden ramparts she’s sweating buckets and is pretty sure she’s going to toss her cookies anytime now. 

She looks up at the three story tall fence around the village, it looks so… real. Her hands shake and she swallows the lump in her throat. Maybe she’s just having a really vivid dream?

A man’s shout makes Cat look to her right, she turns with a startle and gapes. The man calls out again, his words make no sense to her but that’s a small thing compared to what he’s dressed in.

Soon more men join the first, all wearing clothes that could have come out of some king Arthur story. They look at her with fear and confusion, shouting their strange words from a safe distance. When one of them pulls a sword out, Cat knows she’s in trouble.

“It’s ok,” She tries to raise her hands up and the men all flinch. “Hey, see, it’s fine. I’m just…” Ah what’s the point, she thinks to herself. They can’t understand a word she’s saying and vice versa. She turns to look back at the forest, making a run for it would probably be a good idea.

Another man joins the… peasants with swords?... she’s not sure what to call them since they aren’t actually wearing anything that looks like armor. The new man is easily recognizable, unfortunately, if it wasn’t for the friar Tuck haircut and the way he crosses himself immediately after seeing her, the big white robes give the priest away.

Images of being burned at the stake flash through Cat’s mind. It’s the wrong thing to think about though. Between everything that’s happened over the past 12 hours, the drinks finally catch up and make their grand exit a la exorcist… 

Cat’s heaves, then heaves some more while ignoring the chaos around her. She’s so busy trying to breath and not choke on her own vomit that she never sees that hit on the back of her head coming.

* * *

Cat sits in the corner of her cell, huddled in a ball in a futile attempt to keep herself warm. She’s not sure how long she’s been here for but two things are certain. One, this wasn’t a dream, and two, somehow, she’d time travelled to the damn Dark Ages...

_ The next time Cat had woken up, the headache had still been there but the cause had been from a hefty goose egg rather than the drinks. A small problem when compared to the ropes around her wrists and ankles. There had also been the alarming fact that all her clothes had been replaced by what could barely be called a potato sack.  _

_ She’d been so angry she’d shouted and raged, tugging at the bindings while scrambling to get up. They’d given her just enough length to reach the door. It wasn’t until she’d screamed herself hoarse and bruised her shoulder on the door that someone had come to see her. _

_ The priest had been terrified of her, sprinkling water at her from the doorway and chanting before he could bring himself to enter. With three armed men to protect him, Cat had laughed despite the situation. What the hell did he have to be afraid of. There was a bit more chanting and the men left again, bolting the door behind them like frightened grannys. _

_ The potato sack became an itchy nightmare quickly and Cat had had to rip it off before it drove her mad. Maybe seeing her naked would give the priest a heart attack, she’d thought gleefully. It hadn’t… Instead the man had cried out in shock, crossed himself and promptly ran away. Cat’s mad cackles chasing after him. _

_ She’d been left alone for a while after that. With patient gnawing she’d also been able to unbind her hands. As further evidence of her shit luck so far, she was caught halfway through freeing her feet. The beating that followed so they could tie her in irons had been rough. At least she’d gotten some good hits of her own but now hate had replaced her fear and she lashed out at anyone who came near the door. _

The village is quiet today, which is a nice change. Cat adjusts herself a little, rubbing her arms for warmth. She almost misses the potato sack. Almost. A soft sigh escapes her lips while she traces the tips of the tattooed feathers that stretch from her shoulder blades down to her elbows. She smiles for the first time since this whole mess started. It’s a great tattoo, the best one she has without a doubt and while she’s not yet willing to say it was worth the trip… it’s still a bitching tatt.

Loud ringing stops her wandering, Cat covers her ears with a hiss. “Oh yeah, mass…” She snorts sarcastically. “Probably gonna have a nice Cat BBQ after to celebrate.” 

She can hear the priest begin his lecture in that same dronning tone all priests use. Probably telling them to empty their pockets so the church will save them from the evil demon in their midst. 

Sudden yells and cries break the monotone surmone, they’re not happy sounds either. 

“What the hell is happening now…” Cat gets up stiffly and shuffles as far as her chains will let her. Tugging against the irons doesn't do anything other than cut her skin, she can’t help trying to free herself anyway. She’s got no idea what’s happening out there, it doesn’t take a genius to figure shit is going down though. She tugs harder, biting her lip against the pain. “I’m not going to die in some damn moldy church basement in the middle ages!” Cat grunts out with tears in her vision.

The loud creak of the door opening behind her makes her freeze. Cat slowly turns her head, she doesn’t know what she expected but a blonde goddess wasn’t even close. The woman studies her with a hand resting on a sword at her hip. When she speaks, the words make as much sense as everything else so far, which is to say none. 

Cat presses her lips together, keeping her eyes locked with the warrior woman. Not something common in this day and age… She turns her body around as best she can despite the chains and takes a few steps back, not bothering to hide her bits and brings her fists up. She thinks she's got things figured now, it’s a rather famous part of history after all. This little English village is probably getting sacked by Vikings. The chances of Cat getting out of here alive are dwindling by the second.

To her obvious surprise, the woman smiles, not a fake one either, then calls out to someone over her shoulder. A tall skinny man Cat hadn’t noticed before comes into full view, he’s as dark of hair as the woman is fair. He stops short to look at Cat with wide eyes that are framed with streaked coal. It takes a sharp word from the blonde to send him away and when it’s just the two of them, the warrior slowly makes her way towards Cat and lifts a set of keys in the air. The woman speaks slowly, in a soft tone one would use for a frightened animal.

With the way Cat feels right now, that’s not far off. Her heart beats fast like a little bird in her chest but she forces herself to stay still. A rescue of any sort right now feels too good to be true. The blonde moves closer, her blue eyes swiftly going over each tattoo on Cat’s body. It’s easy to tell the other woman is curious, the bright colours and intricate pictures have that effect on people no matter the time or place.

The irons fall off after trying the third key, Cat sighs with great relief. It makes the blonde smile widely before she bends down to unlock the ones around her feet. She doesn’t wait a moment longer before wiggling all her limbs and stretching. Cat lets out a happy groan with each pop her body makes. 

The tall man returns just as Cat twists her torso to the side for one last blissful crack of her spine. His giggle throws her off and she watches curiously as the man hands her a long cloak. She runs a hand through the soft white fur that lines the shoulders, her smile is a bit wobbly as she wraps it around herself. “Thanks.” She says despite knowing he can’t understand her.

He smiles back, dipping his head and gesturing towards the door while he speaks with the blonde. The two Northmen walk back towards the doorway and pause, it’s clear they want Cat to follow. It’s not like she’s got a reason to stay here, a little cell with a dirt floor and not even a pot to piss in. Maybe they were gonna take her prisoner, make a slave of the strange looking girl but whatever it was it was better than rotting here waiting to burn.

Cat walks carefully, her bare feet aching from the cold. The cloak helps, she hugs it tighter to herself as she’s gently guided through the small hallway. With each step she feels a little better, a little more hopeful that she’s not going to die here. Her body aches still though and she clenches her teeth together. 

When they reach a small wooden door, Cat can hear cries on the other side. A dark part makes her smile happily, they’re getting what they deserve she thinks. The blonde opens the door ahead of them before coming back to stand beside her. A strong arm wraps itself around Cat’s shoulders and the warrior woman gently guides her forward, whispering nonsensical things as they go that are no doubt meant to be soothing.

Cat grins widely as soon as she takes in the scene unfolding in the chapel. A loud “Ah!” escapes her before she begins to laugh. It’s the shock she thinks in the back of her head. The peasants are huddled together on the edges of the room, barbarians looting their golden treasures and the priest running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. After everything these people had put her through, there was no pity in Cat’s heart for them.

Her barking laugh draws attention and the priest freezes as he looks at her. The way he looks up at the ceiling and crosses himself again, it’s like a switch is flipped in Cat’s brain. She doesn’t think, what happens next is familiar to her and she knows there’s no holding it back. 

A few running steps is all she needs, too fast and too sudden for anyone to react, Cat lets out a roar and cocks back her arm. She plants her feet, letting her weight shift and carry over into the punch. The spray of blood arches in the air and the priest falls to his knees clutching his nose. Cat doesn’t hear anything other than the rushing blood in her ears and red fills her vision, she’s not done. She grabs a firm hold of brown hair and smashes the man’s face against her knee. The momentum forces the man to fall onto his back, Cat pounces and lets her fists fall on whatever surface she can manage. Time becomes meaningless, she keeps going despite the growing numbness in her limbs.

Strong arms suddenly grab her from behind then lift her in the air and off the bloody priest. She yells and curses, doing her damndest to finish the job. The arms hug tightly around her until she can’t move anymore, a soft sound fills her ears. A man with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen hands her off to the blonde woman. Cat looks around in confusion, all the Vikings are looking at her with large smiles. Maybe this wasn’t going to be the death of her after all. 

* * *

Ragnar had been amused at the way Floki had come running back demanding a cloak. Eric on the other hand, was still grumbling about the way his belongings had been ripped from him before their eccentric friend had run away with the pilfered cloak. 

“You don’t really think it’s a witch, do you Ragnar?” The tall blonde asks from beside him.

“We will see.” He looks at the growing pile of gold with a self satisfied grin. He’d been right about this town and he’s got a good feeling about this potential witch.

When the door opens again, Ragnar is relieved to see it’s Lagertha. She looks mostly pleased. A good sign hopefully. A hush falls in the room when his wife steps back and returns with arms around a  _ very _ strange looking woman wrapped in Eric’s cloak. He pulls his eyes away from the long moss coloured hair to take in everyone else’s reaction. His men are starring, some in awe, some in fear. 

A strange hoarse, almost hysterical, laugh fills the little room. The people in the crowd become even more frightened, which he finds rather funny considering their predicament.

He’s not prepared for what happens then, just as he finds the priest off to his right the man makes that strange gesture again and starts to pray. The scream of rage makes everyone in the room startle, when Ragnar turns he’s shocked to see Eric’s cloak fall back as the witch makes a charge towards the priest. 

Her naked flesh explains the need for a cloak, the fact that nearly all of it is covered in tattoos explains why she’d been named a witch. There’s no time to study the pictures or the body that blurs past him. Ragnar sees the hit coming before the priest does though. He barks out a surprised laugh at the force of the blow. His men add their own jeers as they get over their shock.

The witch is brutal, the glee on her face when her knee connects with the priest's jaw reminds him of Rollo. As soon as the man falls, the woman lets herself fall with him, she digs her knees in the dirt and begins a flurry of punches in the grip of a full blood rage.

“Ragnar,” Floki’s voice whispers in ear, “ look.” His friend points a long fine finger towards the witch’s back. “It’s a sign from Odin.” The awe in his voice is palpable.

On the pale pale shoulders, raven’s wings stretch out onto the woman’s arms to her elbows. The detail is so realistic that each swing of her arm gives the wings flight. The rest of her arms are covered in autumn tree leaves that seem to swirl in the wind. Ragnar hums in the back of his throat. He has seen many signs of late, guiding him along this uncertain path. “I believe you are right my friend.” Ragnar pats Floki’s shoulder and exchanges a look with Lagertha who nods her agreement.

He’d have thought the witch would have tired herself out by now yet she’s still going strong. The christians cry a little more with each hit and Ragnar thinks it’s best to end things here, they’ve got everything they came for and then some. “Gather everything up.” He waves for his men to stop starring and finish looting. No sense in wasting time here.

He slowly approaches the witch from behind, first trying to grab her arm but it’s wrenched from his hold quickly with a growl. She’s stronger than she looks so he changes his angle to wrap his arms around her middle. Ragnar almost takes an elbow to the face a few times as he lifts the girl in the air. His men chuckle at his expense. He shakes his head, quickly pinning her arms with his own while she thrashes against him. “It’s okay,” Ragnar repeats the words soothingly, like he would with his children after a nightmare.

The witch calms down soon enough, she turns to look at him with glazed green eyes. Ragnar studies the dozens of small black stars that run down her temple into blooming red flowers with thorny vines that stretch across her neck and down her chest. He’s never seen anything like it before. When he hands the woman off to Lagertha, she’s still looking around with a bewildered expression but at least she’s no longer trying to hit anyone.

“You’re safe.” He says while keeping eye contact and his voice low.

Lagertha shakes her head while she wraps the witch up once more. “I don’t think she understands us.”

Ragnar nods, he brings his hand to his chest then speaks his name slowly. The girl blinks and he repeats himself before pointing to her, inclining his head for her to speak up.

Her mouth makes a wide O, she grins then points to him. “Ragnar.” She says his name rather well for her first try. “Cat.” She points the finger to herself. 

“Katt.” His first attempt makes her frown, she shakes her head before repeating herself slowly. Her name sounds softer than he’d first thought. His second attempt seems to satisfy her. 

He nods, at least now they have a name for the green haired woman. “Let’s go!” Ragnar motions for the treasures to get wrapped up as he moves aside, clearing the path for his wife to move ahead. The witch, Cat, let’s Lagertha guide her out of the church. The men follow closely behind with the gold in tow, Ragnar smiles again at the plunder. 

Once the doors are barred, Eric sounds the horn for the retreat. The rest of the party joins them as they make their way out the way they came. 

Rollo comes from around a corner with a satisfied grin and bloodied axe. His gaze travels from Ragnar to Lagertha and the green woman with confusion. “Who’s that?”

“A witch. Or something else entirely. I have not decided yet.” Ragnar answers with a clipped tone. “The people here were holding her prisoner but you would know that if you’d done as I asked and stayed close to Lagertha.” 

His brother looks down looking mildly offended. “She looks fine to me.”

Ragnar hums in the back of his throat, he comes to a stop before pinning Rollo with a serious look. “Knut is dead,” he holds his hand up to stop the words he knows are coming. “He tried to rape Lagertha when there was no one to witness his attempt, if I had not sent Eric to find her…” He gives Rollo a meaningful glare. Letting all the implications sink in, not for the first time Ragnar wishes his older brother would think of the future a bit more. He sighs heavily, shaking his head before following the others out of the village. They still have half a day’s walking to get back to the boat.

The walk back to shore goes by quietly, the men whispering amongst themselves as they travel through the forest. The creek bed is easy to follow and masks most of the noise they make. They’re about half way back when the witch slips on the wet ground.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Lagertha had already been holding onto her, Ragnar’s sure the green woman would have fallen. His wife gently moves Cat to sit on the ground and starts to inspect the witch for injuries. Lagerthat sits back on her heels and scowls. “Nothing’s twisted but her feet have turned blue.” The blonde looks up in concern. “We should have grabbed clothes for her before leaving the village. I’m surprised she’s lasted this long honestly.”

Ragnar comes to stop in front of the pair with a regretful frown. They should have thought of that, Cat is looking up at him with chattering teeth then stifles a yawn. He looks around, trying to think of a solution. A mischievous smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Rollo!” 

His brother walks over in a huff. “What’s the problem?”

“You will carry the witch back to the boat.” He bites the inside of his cheek so as not to laugh at Rollo’s protest. “Come now brother, you’re not afraid of one small woman are you?” He teases and the other men chuckle with him. Ragnar crouches in front of Cat then points to his brother, speaking the man’s name slowly. 

The girl looks up, a strange look comes over her before she sticks her hand out of the cloak. She waves it hesitantly and her cheeks regain some colour. 

Ragnar gets up to mimic his plan, he’s relieved that the green woman nods in understanding after a few moments. “Go on,” he smacks Rollo across the chest. “I want to get back to the boat before the sun sets.” 

Despite being prepared, the girl yelps as she’s lifted up but it turns into a small abrupt giggle. The way Rollo’s face twitches between bewilderment and irritation at the way she twines her fingers in his beard is surely a good sign. Ragnar turns to continue their journey and shares a knowing smirk with his wife. This should be interesting.

* * *

  
  


Rollo adjusts the sleeping woman as they near the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing on the beach are welcome to his ears. She’d fallen asleep shortly after they’d continued their trek and hadn’t stirred since. He scowls down, staring at the dried splotches of blood on the skull covered hand sticking out of the cloak. Floki had told him the story in great detail, several times. If Eric hadn’t confirmed it, Rollo would have doubted that the small creature in his arms could beat a man half to death with just her fists. 

He wishes he could have seen it for himself, more than that though he’s curious to see the other markings on her body. Which is nearly impossible with the cloak wrapped tightly around the witch. The few he’s seen are intricate and must’ve taken hours, possibly days, of work. Rollo’s own few tattoos had tested his endurance more than any battle, so he can respect the dedication it must have taken to endure all that. Perhaps that’s the reason why Rollo has refrained from simply sneaking a peak.

The men ahead stop suddenly just as they’re about to reach the beach. Rollo makes his way to the front, stopping behind his little brother with a huff. Looks like there’s one more battle to be had. He grunts and shakes the burden in his arms, he smirks at the startled way the woman wakes. 

She flails, fists at the ready then looks at him with wild green eyes. Her shock turns to a sheepish grin before she suddenly stretches herself out in his arms. The cloak falls open as her arms reach over her head and she groans in pleasure. Rollo blinks down in surprise, quickly followed by appreciation, at the expanse of exposed flesh. Her body is more muscular than he’d expected, the flowers and vines wrapping and twisting from her neck to her hips draw the eye to follow all her dips and curves. Large red and orange flowers bloom on her belly above a nest of dark curls. 

The sound of a throat clearing makes Rollo snap his eyes up to the witch's face. He’d expected a scolding of some kind, instead all he sees is a mischievous green gaze and a prideful grin. Rollo shakes his head and chuckles as he lets her legs drop suddenly.

“If you're done, brother?” Ragnar mutters quietly, bringing Rollo’s attention back to the 30 or so Saxons waiting for them on the beach. “Leave her here with the captured Saxon.” His brother motions to the witch, trying to make her understand what’s about to take place.

She looks to the beach, and while Rollo doesn’t understand the words she utters it’s not hard to imagine their meaning. A mulish frown crosses her face once she understands they want her to stay behind. Rollo thinks she’s going to argue somehow but instead the girl looks around them to the beach then back to her bare body and huffs in defeat. The brothers exchange a small laugh at the way she stomps away to sit a small distance away from the Saxon now tied to a tree. 

“At least give her a weapon.” Lagertha pushes past them with a shake of her head. She reaches the witch then kneels, taking a spare hatchet from her back. The witch takes the weapon without hesitation, swinging it a few times into an invisible log. 

Rollo looks to his brothers with a shrug before taking out his shield. He heads down to the beach with the others, taking a single look back towards the green woman. She’s standing at the edge of the path on the tip of her toes with a deep look of concentration, her fingers moving in the air. At first, he thinks she’s working a spell but when he spins his head to focus on the beach he realizes she’s counting the number of Saxons waiting for them. 

The only advantage they could have is the dozen or so archers they have. Even that doesn’t have him worried when those archers charge forward. Rollo knows what Ragnar will do before his brother shouts for them to form a shield wall. He takes the top row a few paces to the left of his brother, waiting for the whistle of arrows.

Rollo is once again amazed by his brother’s luck; the arrows land in their shields with varying thuds with one narrowly missing Ragnar’s eye. The exhilaration mounts when the Saxons yell a charge, he plants his feet widely as they stand and brace for impact. The first wave of bodies clashes against his shield like a beating wave. Screams and grunts fill the air and Rollo pushes back to hold the tide.

It gives time for the smaller fighters, like Lagertha and Floki as well their own archers, to fall back and ready themselves for the next wave. A spear makes its way between the shields, Ragnar tugs on the spear then gives him a nod. They pull back at the same time, with his spear locked, the pikeman receives an arrow to his belly. 

He closes the gap, grunting and kicking forward blindly to gain some ground. They need to push back harder. “Up onto the overturned keel!” Rollo roars out the first verse that comes to mind. His axe swings wide overhead to smash anyone on the other side of his shield. “Clamber, with a heart of steel!” Another swing, “cold is the ocean spray!” He yells as loud as he can over the clashing clang of iron and wood.

Rollo times his swing to avoid the archers as they’re lifted onto shields and take aim over them. “And your death is on it’s way!” He gains more ground and shouts with all his might, “with maidens you have had your way!” 

Those who hear his call join him for the final verse with glee, “each must die some day!” 

The Saxons begin to lose their spirit shortly after, more and more are pulled away from the flock like lamps to the wolves. Rollo relishes in the opportunity to step back and stretch out. Taking full swings into the enemy, cutting them down in a spray of blood and gore. As soon as one goes down, he runs back to the wall in a screaming charge to pick off another, swinging a man away from his comrades. His axe finds purchase in the Saxon’s back and when Rollo brings his weapon up he spies Floki falter for a moment. 

Rollo follows his friend’s gaze further down the line, cursing suddenly at the shock of green hair running in Lagertha’s direction. With Eric’s cloak billowing away far behind her, the naked witch let’s lose a strange war cry as she raises her axe up in the air. He thinks the worst for a moment, his heart freezing in his chest. The next moment unfolds in a blink, the woman runs past the shield maiden and crashes against a Saxon that had almost flanked Hakon.

He loses track of the witch right afterwards. Lagertha calls the shield wall to regroup, too many Saxons are getting through and they’d almost lost a man. He goes back to the battle with a roar of frustration, smashing back as hard as he can. 

It doesn’t take long after that for the Saxons to give up and scatter. Their leaders ride off like cowards, leaving their men to die under Rollo’s axe. He looks up to search the beach, stopping in his tracks when his eyes settle on the green woman. She’s bent over a Saxon, one leg braced over the body while she attempts to unwedge her small axe.

He watches her struggle with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Rollo’s considering doing it for her when the weapon pulls free and the witch lets out a whoop of victory.

“Hakon tells me she saved his life.” Ragnar’s voice at his side surprises him.

“I saw.” He rumbles an agreement without tearing his gaze away. His eyes continue to follow when she turns to walk towards the ocean. 

His brother pats him on the back. “With the way your eyes are tied to her, I’ve no doubt.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank to all who've read, hope you enjoyed!  
> I have a lot of WIPs on the go, so a reminder that updates may be on the slow side. And a thank you/shout out, to my friend Anatropes for being an awesome beta reader, their stuff is great, go check it!  
> Until next time! Comments and questions are always welcome!


End file.
